


Lady in Mourning

by annebenedicte



Category: Grantchester (TV), Holby City
Genre: F/F, sort of AU but not quite ; Period Obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebenedicte/pseuds/annebenedicte
Summary: Amelia Davenport has just lost her husband ...only is Amelia her real name, and what can handsome Dr Serena Campbell can do for her?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Justine472 for helping me deal at the nail-biting moment I thought I'd lost my chapters through a computer crash ...
> 
> I really needed/wanted to write them, but just once !

****

Chapter

Twenty-one days and six hours since her world had fallen apart… Not since the death of her husband, but since the moment she had learned he’d killed himself because he was a murderer.  Not that she had really been surprised. She had, after all, been married with him for thirty-one years – long enough to know what he was capable of. Five days since she had moved in the small cottage her son had rented for her in Grantchester. Five days where she had refused to set foot anywhere, only leaving her bedroom for bathroom breaks. Sally, the village girl Will Davenport had found to “take care of her” brought her trays and took them back to the kitchen, mostly uneaten. The girl’s cooking was quite unpalatable, not up to the standards she was used to, but even if they had been gourmet meals, she would have left them intact. The only thing she did was get up, get washed and dressed – she had been taught a lady never stayed in her dressing-gown after 9 o’clock – and sit in a chair, staring vacantly at the room.

She knew she should be relieved – her husband would never have granted a divorce, and she wouldn’t have asked – it wasn’t the “done” thing. After decades of put-downs and bruises, she was finally free, and yet she felt empty. Completely, wholly empty. The loss of her home didn’t matter that much – for years, she had struggled to maintain it – or at least maintain appearances. She had pawned the silverware, her jewellery – everything she had, just because her husband used every penny they had for horses and gambling. So the big crumbling pile wasn’t much of a loss. The emptiness was a different issue. After years of being told how to behave, how to dress, how to think – first by her parents, then by her husband, suddenly Amelia Davenport didn’t know how to think anymore. As if she had forgotten the mechanism. She felt like a puppet without strings.

Will Davenport was worried – he had acted for the best. Pending the sale of the estate, he had found a cottage close to the vicarage and helped his mother move. She hadn’t said more than three words to him since then. Each time he came to see her, they sat together in her bedroom, had tea, and she stared in silence while he tried to talk to her. He could see, however, that she was unwell – even paler than usually, she had lost weight and sported huge shadows under her eyes. She seemed to have lost the will to live. He had to do something. The only person Will really trusted was Geordie, and he went to seek advice.

Over a pint of beer, Will confided his worries to his friend. The older man looked thoughtful – he had been impressed by the lady of the manor – her calm, her dignity. And yet, since the first moment they’d met, he had known she was also broken. He thought aloud: “I suppose you could go to Dr. Kinsey, but I don’t trust the old codger. He’s got the manners of a farm hand, and sometimes I think he’s got the wits of one too. Can’t see your mother agreeing to see him. Let me ask Cathy – she might have an idea.”

Cathy Keating did have a suggestion: “There’s a new doctor in Trumpington. I’ve heard she came from London. I don’t know much about her, but Mrs. Pauling from the shop swears by her. I’d give her a try.”

Few women could resist Will Davenport’s smile, and Serena Campbell, M.D, was no exception. After a visit from the young vicar, she agreed to a home visit to his mother. Agreed reluctantly and grumblingly but agreed all the same. She aspired to a quiet life. When she had left her post in a London hospital to work as a village GP, she had chosen somewhere her past wouldn’t follow her. Even in 1950s England, a divorcee was a fallen woman – a female divorced professional was even worse. If anyone questioned her matrimonial status – for instance if her daughter Elinor came to visit – well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Luckily for her, the male population of the village had been decimated during the war, and the women on the whole enjoyed having a female doctor. Some of them, of course, questioned her credentials,  still clinging to the old idea that women couldn’t and shouldn’t study medicine, but the younger ones at least were happy to trust her with their health worries. What the vicar had said about his mother, though, didn’t endear her to Serena. She imagined a crusty old termagant, with marbles in her mouth and pearls round her neck. A patient she could well do without, but the young man had pleaded his case convincingly. Sighing, she chose her most conservative outfit –  beige slacks, pink blouse and brown checked jacket – and drove off in her Vauxhall runabout. With luck she would be home in time for The Archers.

The vicar opened the door – he looked dejected. At her interrogative glance, he explained: “I told my mother you were coming and she wasn’t best pleased…”

I do not need a doctor – I am not sick – her exact words, the longest sentences she had spoken in a while.

Serena frowned: “I see – do you want me to go, then?”

He shook his head: “No – please stay. I’m sure she’ll – I’m sure she’ll be civil.”

“All right – take me to her, then.”

Serena followed the young man up the stairs. He knocked on a door and pushed it open: “Dr Campbell, this is my mother, Amelia Davenport.”

Hiding her curiosity behind her best professional poker face, Serena stepped into the room. She hadn’t been prepared for Amelia Davenport. The woman was years younger than she had expected – probably about her own age – and although she looked obviously unwell, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Serena frowned – when had she begun to care about a woman’s looks? Somehow feeling wrongfooted, she hid her unease behind her gruffiest manners: “Now, Mrs Davenport – your son told me you’d been recently bereaved and you were feeling under the weather.”

Amelia looked at her son: “Leave us, please.”

Then she turned towards the doctor: “What do you want me to tell you, doctor? I lost my husband of thirty-one years. Is it really a surprise that I am tired and sad?”

“No – of course not. But your son told me you hadn’t been eating, or talking to him, and from the looks of you I’d guess you haven’t been sleeping well either.”

Amelia grimaced: “You would be right. But I still don’t think it is a medical matter.”

“Let me at least take your pulse?”

The blonde woman nodded and sat ramrod straight on the bed so that Serena could reach her arm.

“Hmm …_ 110/70 …that’s a bit too low for my liking.”

“Does your liking matter, doctor?”

“It does when my patients’ health is concerned.”

 “What would you like me to do, then, doctor?”

Serena considered her next move for a moment. Then she spoke up: “I would say rest, but in your case I think rest may be the problem, not the cure. I’d like you to go out  - into the garden, in the village. Talk to people – meet your neighbours, talk to your son, too. And eat more.”

Amelia smile wryly: “Sounds so simple, doesn’t it? Just live, and you’ll feel better. I’m not sure it works that way.”

“You can always try, can’t you?”

Amelia sighed: “Maybe – maybe I will – I don’t know.”

“I’ll call on you again in a few days – I’m expecting you to have obeyed my orders, Mrs Davenport.”

“I thought doctors gave out prescriptions, not orders…”

“Well, I give orders, and I want them followed. Good bye, Mrs Davenport.”

“Dr Campbell.”

Serena closed the door behind her and Amelia laid her head wearily against the pillow. Part of her wanted to do what the doctor had asked of her. Obedience, after all, had been drilled into her from an early age – why else would she have married Thomas Davenport? And then, after her wedding day, not following her husband’s diktats had meant verbal and physical abuse…But most of all, all those lonely years in a loveless marriage had left her with a desperate desire to please. Something in the brunette had awakened a craving for affection she had stifled for a long time. Maybe she would try.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It took her two more days to make the effort. On Sundays, Sally didn’t come, so she had the house to herself. She dressed carefully – not in full mourning, but in a sober navy blue suit with assorted pillbox hat and veil. She made herself a cup of tea and forced herself to eat a slice of toast with a little jam – she didn’t feel all that well and she didn’t want to faint en route. Then she took a deep breath and stepped outside. The pale spring sunshine assaulted her eyes and she shielded them with her hands. The church bells were ringing the congregation in – time to go.

She sat unobtrusively on the outer side of a pew, partly hidden by a pillar, but she felt the eyes of the parishioners on her – their vicar’s mother was there. When her son began the service, she felt a rush of pride – not particularly religious herself, she had been surprised by Will’s vocation, but she had tried to be as supportive as she could. She winced as she remembered several heated arguments with her late husbands, some he had settled with his fists… Now, at last, she was allowed to attend one of Will’s services – Thomas had forbidden her to … Will hadn’t seen her. She knew the exact moment he did, because his whole face was illuminated by the smile which had previously only reached his mouth. She plunged her face in her missal to hide.

At the end of the service, she tried to slip away but several people came to introduce themselves – Geordie Keating’s wife and daughter, Mrs Chapman- the vicarage’s housekeeper and a few others. When Will finally reached her, he took both her hands in hers and grinned – relief and happiness were written all over his face: “You came.”

“I came.”

She tentatively hugged him and he enveloped her in his arms. For a brief moment, she inhaled his scent, a mix of aftershave and incense, and all was right again in the world. Then she let go and prepared to turn away. He tugged on her sleeve: “Mother? Please join us at the vicarage for lunch? We’d be glad to have you.”

She hesitated – she wasn’t ready. But would she ever be ready?

Will insisted: “It’s only me, Finch and Mrs. Chapman.”

She bit her lips and nodded – sounded just like what the doctor had ordered. During the lunch, she reverted to the usual role she held at her husband’s table – just look good and be quiet. But at least, this time, she knew she wouldn’t be the one to be blamed for the slightly over-cooked lamb or the rock-hard peas.

When the doctor visited her again on the Monday, she was ready for her. Or at least she thought she was. She had asked Sally to buy scones and to make tea in the best silver teapot – not that there was a second-best left – it had long been sold. Then she put on a nice blouse, her pearls and a light grey pencil skirt, and waited in the lounge.

Serena parked her car a little haphazardly in front of the cottage and rang the bell. She couldn’t understand why the butterflies in her stomach kept somersaulting – she was just visiting a patient... Pleasantly surprised to see the blonde woman opening her own front door, and even more so to see she looked much better, she accepted the proposed cup of tea – she had just finished her rounds, and wouldn’t have minded something stronger, but she would do with tea.

The two women sat around the coffee table and the doctor was inordinately pleased to see her patient nibble on a scone. They chatted about the weather and the village news for a while, until a furious hammering at the front door stopped them in their tracks.

“Will you excuse me? Sally isn’t here, and I’m afraid I’ll have to go and see who it is.”

“Of course.”

With a small smile, Amelia walked to the front door. Listening to her heels click on the wooden floor, Serena reflected that her patient and current host was really a beautiful woman. The sounds of a raised voice made her hasten to her feet and rush through the corridor. The man at the door, by his clothes obviously a workman was yelling at the blonde woman who tried ineffectually to interrupt him. Apparently his words weren’t enough, for he begun to gesticulate wildly and Serena saw Amelia Davenport flinch and cower as if she’d been struck. She hurried to her help and finally managed to understand the issue – the man had to drive a dairy lorry through the village and  her car was in the way. With an apologetic look at Amelia and a furious one at the driver, she went out to her car and parked it closer to the kerb.

When she came back to the house, Amelia Davenport was sitting on the couch, her face in her hands. Serena noticed her shoulders were shaking. She came closer and put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders: “Sshh now – it’s all right- it’s all over. No one is going to hurt you, Amelia.”

The blonde woman murmured something unintelligible through her sobs.

“I’m sorry?”

“Berenice – not Amelia. Amelia was my husband’s idea – he didn’t like my given name, so he called me by my middle one – which I hate – and it stuck. I’d like to become Berenice again. Or Bernie – that’s how my friends called me at school.”

“Bernie, then. Look – I can see you’re upset – do you want to talk about it?”

Bernie sighed: “Not really, no but … I’m sorry – you must think I’m a complete idiot, reacting like that, but …”

“Was your husband violent, Bernie?”

Bernie nodded, biting her lips. And suddenly it all came out, in a flow of words. “He was a bully – there’s no other word. When I dared to disagree with him, he hit me. When I bought the wrong clothes, for instance …So I stopped buying any. Or when the meal wasn’t to his liking – or when Will was naughty and I tried to defend him. Not that it changed anything, but …Or when he drank too much…Or …” She buried her face in her hands again and Serena had to prick up her ears “He hit me with his hands or with his words…He kept telling me I wasn’t good enough …that I was a bad wife, and a bad mother…And in the bedroom he …he forced himself on me …I lost three babies before Will…” She dissolved into tears again and once more Serena drew her into her arms and rubbed her back.

When the doctor left, it was past nine o’clock and the roads were dark – the sound of the hedges brushing on the car reminded her to be careful, but her mind was on the blonde woman’s words…and on how good she smelt – like lavender and honey.

Left to herself again, Bernie took a book and tried to read, but her mind kept flashing back to the previous hours. She hadn’t felt that comfortable since …since the war …since her husband had had to go to London several times a week, and part of their house had been requisitioned to serve as a hospital…. Her eyes misted over …She would never forget her …. She remembered the sound of her voice as she murmured loving words in the dark, the shape of their body as they held each other, the taste of her lips … Alex had been one of the nurses sent to care for the patients… She had reached out to her, and the heart Bernie had thought frozen forever after her wedding had slowly began to thaw. They had made plans …After the war, she would leave her husband …they would live together … For the third time that day she was crying – Alex had been killed at the end of the war – a stupid car accident had robbed them of their future.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks passed. The doctor had not visited again and although there had been no reason for her too, Bernie felt somehow disappointed. So much of her time when she lived in the Davenport seat had been spent trying to keep the estate afloat and satisfying her husband’s whims that she had forgotten how to occupy herself otherwise. There was only so much time one could spend reading, the season wasn’t conducive to gardening and as for entertaining, their friends had mostly been friends of her husband, who had disappeared with the sale of the estate.  Her son came as often as he could, but either they didn’t talk much or they ended up fighting about the past. She had been invited to tea by a few old ladies but she had politely declined. The village itself offered few distractions – the village shop, the three pubs, the church and the graveyard – nothing particularly fascinating. Bernie came to the conclusion that she would have to learn to drive and buy a car – just a small one, to get around.

 

The practise was busy as usual and Serena wondered why uninvited thoughts kept creeping in the back of her mind.  Thoughts of a handsome blonde woman. She had no reason to drop in anymore, and yet …One evening, when the last patient had bundled out of the surgery, she checked her watch – only 6pm – still early…Why not? The worst that could happen would that Bernie would say no. Serena quickly repaired her make-up, ran a comb through her hair and jumped into her car. Fifteen minutes later, she was standing on Bernie’s doorstep. She rang the bell but no one answered. Maybe Bernie was out – she should have rung… She decided to go round the back, just in case, and was rewarded by the sight of a muddy Bernie in wellies and shooting jacket. When she saw her, Bernie started and ran her hand through her dishevelled hair: “Oh – hello – sorry, I didn’t hear the bell.”

“That’s all right. I was just …Passing through.”

Don’t tell her you came especially to ask her to dinner …don’t!

“Oh – right.”

Suddenly Bernie found herself tongue-tied. Serena cleared her throat: “So – I was wondering – any chance I can tempt you for a meal out? We could got to the Red Lion Hotel in Cambridge – the food is rather good.”

“Hmm – yes, why not – that would be lovely. If you’ll just give me a few minutes to get ready? I …I need to change. Please come inside.”

“You look lovely the way you are…”

Bernie blushed: “It’s very kind of you to say so, but this is hardly an appropriate outfit for dinner.”

How long since anyone had paid her a compliment? She couldn’t even remember. Alex had been kind but rather brusque. And they had had to be discreet. Not that anything had really… Happened. Only those few stolen kisses, and the promise of more after the war. A more she had been terribly frightened of. She hurriedly changed into her most conservative dress and jacket – a protection against her own feelings – and tried to arrange her hair without much success. Since her husband’s death, she had allowed herself not to sleep with rollers – a huge relief. She took a deep breath before joining Serena downstairs – onwards and upwards!

As Serena had promised, the food was good. In the country, they hadn’t suffered from rationing as much as in the big cities but having choice in a restaurant was a welcome treat. So was the chocolate cake, a forgotten delicacy. The conversation flowed easily despite a few awkward moments. When Bernie mentioned she and her son had often found themselves in disagreement in the previous weeks, Serena sympathised: “I do understand – my daughter and I …we’re not particularly close. She takes after her father for so many things. And he indulges her – he’s paying for her flat in London.”

Bernie’s mind was working furiously – she had assumed Serena was a spinster, or maybe a widow like herself. She decided she would try and ask: “So you’re …”

“Divorced,” replied Serena bluntly. “Does that shock you?”

Bernie shook her head slowly: “No – no of course not – my son is the religious one in the family.”

So Serena was a divorcee – which meant she was single. Bernie wondered why this suddenly seemed so very important. She enjoyed the doctor’s company very much. And she admired her, too – Serena had made something of her life. Whereas she – what had she made of hers? Exactly nothing. When she had left school at sixteen, her parents had sent her to an aunt and uncle in Paris to spend six months perfecting her French. The country was booming after the Great War, and she had enjoyed having a little more freedom than at home or at boarding school. With her cousin Marie, just two years older than her, she had discovered the cafés near Montparnasse, smoked her first cigarettes and admired the girls who dared to wear trousers. All too soon her trip had come to an end and she had had to return to England and be presented. She could still remember the curtseying lessons - left knee locked behind the right, allowing a graceful descent with head erect, hands by one’s side. On the day itself, one curtsey to the King, then three sidesteps and another deep curtsey to Queen Mary. One of the other debutantes’ heel had caught in her petticoat and ripped it, mortifying the girl forever. And then the Season – being presented to the “right” men, although she suspected her parents had earmarked Thomas Davenport for her long before. Nothing had happened on the wedding night – her new husband had fallen asleep on her, dead drunk. When he had deflowered her the next night, his repeated assaults had left her ashamed and bruised. He hadn’t cared. Hadn’t cared either when she had had her three miscarriages, one of them during the second trimester. When William had been born, she had hoped he would leave her alone, but no such luck. It hadn’t kept him from having several extramarital relations, which he hadn’t tried to hide from her – he had enjoyed boasting about them. And now he was dead, she was left without a life on her own. She had had hopes – had begged her parents to send her to university to study languages. She could have been a teacher or a lecturer – she would have enjoyed being a bluestocking. Or even a journalist. She had never dreamt of a family of her own. In her wildest dreams, she had imagined herself a destitute writer in a garret – seemed that she had not been far wrong with the “destitute” part, but as for the rest…

Serena had been talking and when she put her hand on Bernie’s arm, the latter started: “I’m so sorry – I ...”

“Don’t worry – I could see by your face that you were miles away.”

“Yes …Years away, actually. Did you always want to study medicine?”

“I think so, yes. My father was a doctor, my grand-father was a doctor – family tradition. And I married a doctor, too – Edward – my ex-husband – is a surgeon at the Royal in London. When I was a little girl, I didn’t play “tea parties”, I made potions and pills for my friends – as far as I know, I didn’t poison anyone, but it was probably only pure luck.”

Bernie smiled: “Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting…”

“Not quite, but there might have been a crushed ant or two…”

Both women giggled. Then Serena asked: “What did you want to be?”

Bernie sobered up: “That is what I was thinking about. I would have liked to study languages and literature. To travel and …” She blushed a little: “You’ll think it very pretentious of me, but I wanted to write ...”

“A 20th century Gertrude Bell…”

Bernie blushed: “Not quite…But I’d love to go to Italy …and go back to France…My husband … He always said we had everything we wanted at home and there was no need to go eat bad food and sleep in bug-infested beds in poky hotels abroad.”

Serena’s eyebrows rose: “I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but …”

“He just wanted to take care of the estate the best he could. And he loved me and his son…”

“And in your own words, Bernie, he was a bully who hit you, and who deprived you of what would have made you happy.”

Bernie suddenly became very interested in the tablecloth. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from falling. She was wringing her hands and looked up at Serena as the doctor’s hands suddenly imprisoned hers.

“Bernie – your life isn’t over. You can still be happy. You owe it to yourself to try. To fulfil your dreams. You’re free now – you can travel, you can write – hell, I’m sure you could even go to university if you wanted!”

Bernie managed a small smile: “No – that ship sailed long ago. But you’re right. I have to make a go of it. I’m not sure I know how to be happy, but …”

Alone in her bed that night, she wondered if she had dreamt it. Serena’s lips on her hands, a fleeting kiss in the dark restaurant. And then when Serena had dropped her home, her dark eyes had stared straight into hers as the doctor had murmured: “Let’s do this again, shall we? Soon …Very soon…”

Still unused to a bed to herself, Bernie curled up in a ball and tried to ignore the questions in her head…She slept better that night than in many, many years…


	4. Chapter 4

When the phone rang around 8pm, Serena sighed. She had just come back home, and she really had no wish to go out again, but it was most likely an emergency:

“Trumpington 3408, Campbell speaking,” she snapped into the receiver.

“Serena …Hello – it’s Bernie – I hope …I hope it’s not too late to call?”

Serena’s voice softened instantly: “No – no of course not. How are you?”

“I’m fine – listen, I was wondering – would you like to come to dinner this Saturday? Nothing fancy, but…”

“I’d love to.”

“Righto! Shall we say 7?”

“Seven it it. Goodbye for now.”

“Goodnight, Serena.”

When Saturday came, Bernie found herself in a flutter. She had forgotten a detail when she had issued her invitation – she didn’t know how to cook. She had learnt a little at boarding school, but she had never had any occasion of putting what she had learnt into practice – her parents had had a cook, and she had had one too during her marriage. At a pinch, she could make toast and scrambled eggs, but she had never attempted anything more complicated. When she had thought of the menu, she had tried to keep things simple – she had bought lamb chops, potatoes and carrots, and since she had apples – too bitter to eat raw- from the garden, she thought she would attempt an apple pie with custard. She managed to peel the vegetables and the apples without too much damage to her hands – just one or two nicks – although the result would probably have made her old home ecs teacher shriek in horror. The pie came out of the oven slightly charred, but she hoped it would be edible. As for the custard, she wasn’t sure she would dare serve it – it appeared rather pale and unappetising. Around six, she went up to her bedroom and looked at herself in the mirror – the heat of the Aga had reddened her skin, her hair was all over the place and streaked with flour. She brushed off most of it and got busy with the curling irons to try and make herself look a little tidier. She had just finished setting the table when the doorbell rang. Serena stood of the doorstep with her doctor’s bag.

“So …What’s in the bag?”

Serena smiled mysteriously and fished inside, producing a bottle of Claret: “Ta-dah!”

“Oh – you shouldn’t have…”

“You went to the bother of cooking, it’s the least I could do. Besides…” Serena hesitated.

“Besides?”

“This is a small village, Bernie. Lots of prying eyes. You don’t want any rumours. With the bag, it’s more…”

“More professional – I understand. Thank you for – for caring.”

“You’re very welcome. And you look lovely, by the way.”

Bernie blushed as Serena looked at her appreciatively. The black dress the blonde was wearing hugged her curves just where it should and the cleavage, although discreet, was tantalising…It had been a long time since Serena hadn’t looked at another woman that way – a very, very long time.

“Thank you.”

Bernie went to fetch glasses and they sipped the wine slowly. When they sat at the table, Bernie began to apologise for her cooking. Serena grinned: “Don’t worry – can’t be much worse than mine – I could live on bread and jam…”

They made a valiant effort, but the chops were tough and the vegs mushy… Bernie apologised again and hoped against hope the apple pie would make up for the rest of the meal. Serena took a bite and made a face which she tried unsuccessfully to hide. Bernie looked at her worryingly and took a bite of hers. Only years of etiquette lessons kept her from spitting it out. She swallowed with difficulty and turned distraught brown eyes towards Serena: “I forgot the sugar!”

Serena laughed at Bernie’s expression but sobered up quickly seeing her friend’s anguish was real: “Oh darling – never mind! It doesn’t matter, really.” The term of endearment had slipped out naturally and Serena held her breath, wondering if Bernie would be shocked. The blonde fled from the room. Serena gave her a few minutes and followed her in the kitchen. Bernie sat at the table, her face in her hands. The doctor sat on the table’s edge and put her arms around the blonde’s shoulders. She stroked her forehead gently and Bernie leant into her, burying her head in the doctor’s jumper. Serena held her close for a little while before daring to kiss the soft blonde hair. A shiver ran through Bernie’s body, she stiffened and then relaxed into Serena. After a few minutes, Bernie straightened up and gave Serena a little smile: “You must think I’m a real basket case...Can I at least offer you a cup of coffee? Even I can’t make that undrinkable.”

“I don’t – and yes, please.”

Bernie busied herself with making the hot drinks and they sat down again at the kitchen table, neither of them wanting to go back to the chilly dining-room.

“Are we – are we good? I didn’t mean to …” said Serena hesitantly.

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do, Serena. But …I must admit – I’m a little confused. When you said you were divorced, I assumed …”

Serena sighed: “Of course you did. I should probably have explained, but …It’s not …It’s not easy. Edward – my ex-husband – he worked with my father at Addenbrook’s Hospital in Cambridge before my father decided to give up being a surgeon and to open a general practice in Bury St Edmunds. Edward is an anaesthetist. His parents were dead, and I think my father considered him like a kind of surrogate son. He brought him home for Christmas and family occasions. I was three years younger, studying at the London School of Medecine for Women, and I thought Edward was a lovely man – kind, gentle, protective… He courted me for a while and one of the things he told me was that he had no objections to me having a career. So …I let myself be persuaded into marriage – it was the done thing, after all. He didn’t seem overly interested in …well, you know… We only did it a few times, and I fell pregnant almost immediately. I was very relieved – I’d begun to realise I liked him like a brother, but not like a husband. I did think there was something wrong with me, but …”

Bernie was listening avidly. Serena sighed again and went on: “I guess I should have known from the start, but I was young, and a little naïve, and … Anyway, one day he came home and broke down sobbing – he told me he couldn’t live with the lies anymore. He said he had been a coward – he should have told me sooner – he would set me free. For all my medical training, I couldn’t understand what he meant – I thought he might have a disease, or …”

Serena could still see the scene – she had tried to reassure him, told him it didn’t matter, they would face it together…And then, in frustration, when he saw she didn’t understand, he had spat at her: “Yes – yes, I’m sick – and what I have is incurable! You can’t help! I’m in love with Arthur!” Arthur was one of his colleagues at the time. She told Bernie how he had explained he had thought marriage would protect him – maybe even cure him – but he couldn’t live with the pretence anymore. He had offered to divorce her then, and how past the initial shock she had realised that she didn’t care that much, because she didn’t love him that way either. By then Elinor was a toddler, she herself was at the beginning of her career, and she wasn’t sure she wanted a divorce. They came to an agreement.- they would wait until Elinor went to boarding school and then they would start the procedure. When Elinor was eight, Edward arranged to be found conveniently in bed with a woman and she became a divorcee.  

When she finished her story, both women remained silent. Then Serena added softly, half to herself: “I didn’t mind that much …By then I’d begun to suspect I had the same incurable disease…” Their eyes met over the table and Bernie reached out to Serena, taking her hand in hers and lightly stroking her wrist with her thumb: “I understand …Believe me, I understand…”


	5. Chapter 5

When Serena left a little before midnight, Bernie washed up and sat at the kitchen table again, her back to the warm Aga. She didn’t want to go to bed. Not yet – she mulled over the evening, trying to make sense of it all, to remember every detail, every sensation.

The next morning, she was humming softly as she tried to put some order in the vegetable garden.

“Oh good! You seem to be feeling much better this morning, Mrs Davenport.”

“I’m sorry?” Bernie turned to the fence where her elderly neighbour stood, leaning heavily on her cane.

“Yesterday evening – I saw that doctor visiting you and she stayed for a long time. So I thought you were feeling poorly…”

Bernie hoped the cold wind would keep her cheeks from reddening: “Oh yes – yes, of course…It’s … It’s my son – I told him I had a headache and he phoned her.” A small lie… She was damned anyway, so … Impure thoughts were so much worse than lies. She chatted with the woman for a few minutes, wanting to escape but knowing it was the best way to be left alone afterwards. Serena had been right – rumours were rife in this village. They would have to be careful – she would have to be careful – the vicar’s mother couldn’t afford to be gossiped about.

Will noticed his mother looked much happier, but she didn’t offer any explanation, and he didn’t dare inquire further. He was there, however, when Serena phoned a few days later to invite her to go to the opera in Cambridge and she tried to school her face in a neutral expression to hide her delight. She tried to keep her voice bland, too, as she answered: “Yes …Yes, I think I’m free – let me think for a minute. Yes, that would be nice – thank you. Goodbye.” Turning to her son, she smiled: “An old friend – she invited me to dinner.”

As she hung up, Serena wondered at the lack of enthusiasm in Bernie’s voice. Maybe it was too soon after their last encounter. Or too late – maybe she should have phoned the day after. Or maybe she had scared Bernie – maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Edward – or her own penchant. Maybe she’d talked too much…But she had agreed to come to the opera, so that was something. One of her patients had given her two tickets for Madame Butterfly at the Cambridge Arts theatre, and she had immediately thought of Bernie – there was no one else she wanted to share the evening with.

On the day of the opera, Bernie suddenly got cold feet – what if she had been completely wrong all along? What if Serena had asked her along just to be polite? To reciprocate for the dinner? Of course, she had come to comfort her in the kitchen, but that was just something friends did. And Serena was a doctor after all – used to taking care of people. And anyway…There were both old – not exactly in their dotage, but clearly past their prime. Not two adolescents in the throes of first love. Even if she wasn’t mistaken, this was impossible – ludicrous. She would set the record straight – not that she would dare say anything, but she would try to be …To make Serena understand. She dressed carefully, feeling it would give her self-confidence. Her grey shantung dress – boring and tired, but she didn’t have the means nor the use for anything newer and her fur. Grey gloves, grey hat – just like her mood. A symphony of greys. They had agreed to meet at the theatre, and Bernie had asked the village taxi to drive her. On the way, the cabbie – who doubled as the village mechanic – tried to engage her in conversation but she only participated with monosyllables. Her head was on the evening ahead.

Serena paced in front of the theatre, unable to keep still – she hadn’t felt that nervous in years. Her coat didn’t fit on her dinner jacket and although she’d thrown a thick scarf over her shoulders, she was freezing. Or maybe the nerves were the cause of her shivers. When she saw Bernie alight in front of the theatre, she whistled under her breath. The woman was beautiful – the epitome of grace and elegance. As she stepped forward to greet her, Serena swallowed hard and licked her suddenly dry lips discreetly – as they greeted each other, she sensed something was off. As if their past evenings together had never happened. They were back to polite strangers, the blonde as icy and aloof as she had been during their very first encounter. Bernie stumbled on the stairs of the theatre and Serena reached out, grasping her arm to keep from falling. Bernie wrenched her arm away, flinching from Serena’s hurt expression. She just couldn’t help it. Serena’s touch had awakened a flurry of emotions and her heartbeat had quickened, her body tingled, her mouth felt dry – all that just because Serena’s fingers had touched her sleeve… She didn’t want to imagine those same fingers on her bare skin… She had to be strong for the both of them. Without a word, she stalked forward, leaving Serena to follow in her trail.

The seats offered a splendid view of the stage…they were also uncomfortably close together. Bernie sat rigidly, her back ramrod straight, her hands stiffly on her lap. Serena seethed in silence – she didn’t understand – she wanted to question Bernie but an elderly couple sat behind them in the box, and she couldn’t hide the questions that burnt her lips. She hadn’t expected Bernie to be affectionate in public, but nor had she been ready for this glacial coldness. She stared at the stage, but her eyes kept straying to the blonde. She wanted to shake her out of her indifference. She tried to lose herself in the music instead but without much success. At the end of the second act,  Serena thought she had at last succeeded in concentrating on the show when she felt rather than saw her companion shiver slightly. She turned towards Bernie and saw silent tears running on her cheeks.

The humming chorus was her undoing – Bernie tried to bite the inside of her cheeks but it was no use – she felt the tears and did nothing to stop them. She remained frozen in her rigid stance, afraid to move in case she broke down altogether. When Serena’s hand crept on hers, she didn’t take hers away. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life – not even when her husband had threatened to throw her down the stairs. Not when he had dragged her to their bedroom by the hair and proceeded to pummel her with his fights. Right there in the theatre, she could have been made of glass – as fragile and as transparent… Serena slipped her a tissue and she got out of her trance to dab at her eyes. Then the doctor seized her hand again and Bernie lost herself in the comforting presence.

When they got out of the theatre, it was dark and pouring with rain. Serena steered Bernie to her car, parked not far from the theatre. When they reached it, they were both soaked. Serena went round to open the passenger’s door for Bernie and she groaned: “Oh no! No no no no no! Not now!”

“What’s wrong?”

Serena gestured towards one of the front tyre, which was completely flat: “I brought her to the garage two days ago because I thought there was something wrong with that tyre and the mechanic told me there was nothing the matter… I’m so sorry, Bernie. I wonder if we can find a cab…”

Bernie grimaced: “At this hour and in this weather? Not very likely…” They glanced around but the streets were deserted. The audience had dispersed and the theatre’s lights had gone dark. Serena swallowed hard and looked at Bernie: “I think we’ll have to stay here tonight. I know a hotel we can walk to – it’s not very far – I just hope they have rooms available.”

“Well …I don’t see that we have any other choice,” murmured Bernie. “Lead on.”

Serena offered her her arm and Bernie accepted it. Once in the hotel lobby, Serena pushed Bernie gently towards the open fireplace: “Go and dry down a bit. I’ll go and see about the rooms.” She came back a few minutes later, looking dejected.

“What?”

“They’ve only got one room left …I’m sorry, Bernie – and with a double bed…I can sleep on an armchair or on the floor. We’ll …We’ll manage.”

Bernie bit her lips. “I’m sure it will be quite all right, Serena, but …what will _he_ think?” she added, nodding towards the receptionist.

Serena grinned: “Nothing – I don’t believe he’s the kind to overthink things. But anyway …I told him we were sisters.”

Bernie looked marginally relieved and a little sceptical: “Really?”

Serena shrugged: “Don’t worry so much – come on – we need to get dry.”

The beds looked comfortable enough and the room quite welcoming despite the heavy mahogany furniture. The receptionist had sent a man to light the small gas fire and to bring a electric one but both women were shivering in their clothes and the fires’ glow didn’t help much. Bernie’s teeth were chattering and she hastily discarded her sodden fur on a chair., clutching her arms around herself to try and warm herself up.

“Right – you can have the bathroom first – go and get into a hot bath.”

Bernie’s eyes went wide at Serena’s peremptory tone and she murmured: “I am not a child, Serena – you can’t order me about…” She remembered all too well what usually happened when her late husband used that kind of tone and she didn’t immediately comply.

Realising that her concern for her companion, who looked frozen to the bone and utterly miserable, had made her sound harsh, Serena softened her voice: “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I’m sorry. I’m just afraid you’ll catch a cold if you don’t get out of those wet clothes.”

Bernie managed a small grin and nodded: “All right – thank you – I’ll be as quick as I can.”

As she stood under the small trickle of barely warm water coming out of hot shower, Bernie thought wryly that after the war, she had hoped never to have to ration water again, but she would have to get back to the old habits that night. Considering those practical details kept her from thinking about the scary reality – she was in an hotel room with Serena Campbell – and right now, stark naked… She hurriedly got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel. The bathroom door cracked opened and a hand proffered a blanket. Bernie accepted it and considered her options – she really didn’t want to get her girdle back on if she had to sleep in her undergarments.. Her panties and slip would have to do. She put those back on and put the blanket around her shoulders. It didn’t reach her knees, and she felt too exposed, too vulnerable, but her dress was still damp and she didn’t want to put it back on. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.

Serena’s head turned automatically to her companion, but she tried hard not to stare. Aware that the other woman would be uncomfortable, she tried to make light of the situation: “You do know I’m a doctor, right? I’ve seem umpteen bodies in all kinds of undress…”

Bernie blushed and gestured towards the bathroom: “All yours.” She went to check on her dress which she had laid in front of the gas fire but no luck – she couldn’t put it back on yet. She pushed the two armchairs closer to the source of heat and settled in one of them.

Seeing Bernie’s faraway look when she came back into the room, Serena wondered aloud: “Anything wrong? Oh, wait – don’t answer that – I know this is far from ideal, but …”

“No, no – it’s not that – I was just thinking about Rupert – he’ll be waiting for me…”

Serena’s brow furrowed – Bernie had never mentioned a man before, except from her son and her late husband. Had she really read her all that wrong? She couldn’t help herself: “Maybe you could phone …Rupert?”

Bernie grinned: “I could, but I doubt he would answer.”  Seeing Serena’s look of bewilderment, she condescended to elaborate: “Ruppert is a tabby that adopted me when I moved into he cottage. He got into the habit of coming in for his supper every evening.”

Serena heaved a discreet sigh of relief. “I’m sure he’ll manage for one night. Speaking of supper – I asked if we could get something to eat – they should bring ...”  A knock at the door proved her right – she went to open it and came back with a tray with two bowls of steaming soup, slices of bread and cheese and a few chocolate biscuits. She set it on the coffee table and they dug in. Holding a spoon, a bowl and a blanket wasn’t the easiest thing and as Bernie brought the spoon to her mouth, the blanket slipped, exposing her shoulders and cleavage. She blushed bright scarlet and attempted to retrieved the blanket, but Serena pre-empted her. When Serena’s fingers brushed her bare skin, her whole body tingled and thrilled and she felt hot and cold all over. Serena tucked her into the blanket again and let her fingers trace the contours of her face, caressing the pale skin, brushing away a stray curl of blonde hair. Then she let her hands wander below, on Bernie’s neck, on her bare shoulders, and since her companion offered no resistance she dropped a butterfly kiss on Bernie’s cheek …then another… She traced the contours of her lips, smoothing away the hard line and parting them gently with her thumb before planting her own lips on them. A few seconds only and Bernie responded with gentle pressure, her own hand reaching out behind Serena’s neck. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the kiss, her resolve forgotten – nothing mattered anymore but Serena’s lips on hers. When Serena let go, she felt suddenly bereft, orphaned – how could a simple kiss make her so safe, so loved?

They went on eating in silence, both of them avoiding each other’s eyes. Serena regretted her impulse – she shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation. Finally, she cleared her throat: “It’s getting late. You take the bed. I’ll be fine in this armchair.”

Bernie lifted troubled brown eyes towards her. She wanted to say…she felt so much and didn’t have the words…This wasn’t right, and yet …She swallowed hard and nodded silently. She went to the bed and took the bedspread off, handing it to Serena: “Here – have this – otherwise you’ll freeze.” Then she slipped between the sheets and shivered at the contact of the freezing linen. Serena turned out the ceiling light and the room darkened, lit only by the bedside lamp. Bernie reached for the switch and only the pale window glow remained. A few minutes later, Bernie murmured: “Serena? Are you still awake?”

Serena came to sit on the bed. The words came out in a breath: “Will you – will you hold me, please?” Serena hesitated but even in the dark there was no mistaking Bernie’s request…And she herself wanted so much more, but she would take what her companion offered. She turned around the bed and slipped under the covers on the other side. Bernie moved a little closer to the centre of the bed, and Serena’s arms went around her. Suddenly Bernie found it hard to breathe and her heart beat seemed to fill the room. As she tried to relax in Serena’s embrace, her satin slip offering scant protection, she let herself feel Serena’s every curve against her own body’s past and scars. At the same time terrified and terribly …safe. The morning sun found them asleep spooned against each other…


	6. Chapter 6

**Fifteen years later.**

Thunder could be heard rumbling a few miles away and the sky had darkened, announcing an imminent downpour. Bernie turned to Serena, who was still engrossed in her book and couldn’t help smiling at the huge sunhat on her partner’s head – she had christened it “the Red Peril”.

“Darling – I think we should get inside or we’re going to get drenched.”

“Hmm …really? Give me a hand, will you?”

Bernie obligingly extended her hand to help her companion out of the deckchair and seized the tray with the glasses to bring it inside. They had been having pastis in the garden, as they had done most evenings since they’d arrived in the South of France. They just had time to bring everything inside before the skies broke open and the rain came pouring down. As they sat at the kitchen table having supper, both women spoke at the same time: “Do you remember …”

And of course they did. Bernie remembered that night as the first night of the rest of her life…And Serena would never forget how a flat tyre had started something wonderful… Not all of it had been wonderful, obviously, but happiness had to be earned… Once they had both overcome their own qualms and fears, they had had to face the fact that living openly together in a small English village would not be easy. Moreover, they had both been public figures – the vicar’s mother and the doctor – and many would have happily dissected their relationship and spread tales. They had tried to be discreet, but neither of them had felt comfortable living in hiding. They didn’t care about other people’s opinions, but they didn’t want anyone to be hurt. No-one had said anything to their face, but when Serena had found “dyke” spray-painted on her garden gate, they had known it was time to go away. They had gone travelling for a few months, fulfilling Bernie’s dreams – Paris, Rome, Florence and Naples – they had even thought of settling in Tuscany, but they had finally decided on the South of France. Bernie’s French, although rusty, had soon come back and Serena’s rudiments had improved with time – enough for her to re-open a practice. Even if they had decided against the Riviera, “a sunny place for shady people”, favouring a village near Aix-en- Provence, between the Ste-Baume massif and the vineyards, several of their compatriots had chosen the same area, enough for Serena to have both French and British patients. As for Bernie …Bernie had wondered what she would do – she had felt aimless in England – useless. However, along the years, she had grown in confidence and had begun to fulfil another dream. She had put pen to paper, and discovered that after years of being silenced, she had things to say. Witty things – sometimes funny, sometimes mordant, sometimes ironic, always to the point and never bitter or vitriolic. Among the new friends they had made was one of the editors of _La Dépêche du Midi_ , a regional newspaper. Serena had slipped him a few examples of Bernie’s writing, and he had immediately liked them – liked them so much, in fact, that he had offered her a fortnightly column in his paper… _A British Lady under the sun_ – _Une Lady au soleil_.

After dinner and washing up and Serena took up her book again. Bernie appeared restless. Finally, she lit up a cigarette and although Serena frowned, she said nothing, all too aware that cigarettes were for Bernie a symbol of freedom. She also knew that her partner only smoked when she was anxious or something was bothering her. And she knew what that something was. She abandoned her book and went to sit on the couch, putting her arms round Bernie’s back: “Talk to me, darling. Don’t shut me off. Please.”

Bernie sighed and her eyes looked troubled. She bit her lips and took a few more drags before extinguishing her cigarette. “Serena – I’m …I’m worried. Or maybe …no, actually, I’m scared.”

“I can still tell her not to come, you know. She’ll be furious, but…”

“No, of course you can’t, Serena. She’s your daughter – and you want to see your grand-daughter. I understand that – they’re your family!”

“You’re my family too, darling…”

Bernie lowered her eyes, staring at her hands: “And you’re mine – but …it’s not the same.”

Her son had understood – or at least he’d told her he had, and he and his wife had never been anything but kind to her and Serena. Serena’s daughter, however, had not been so amicable. Their new neighbours hadn’t batted an eyelid when they had settled in St Maximin, except for the natural caution when newcomers were concerned. The village was small, but also touristy – the basilica was a centre of pilgrimage, on the way to Santiago de Compostella – and it probably made its inhabitants more open-minded. Or maybe it was the legacy of the May 1968 riots. Or maybe people just didn’t care as much as in Grantchester. Elinor, however, had not accepted her mother’s new lifestyle with the same equanimity. She had ranted and raved at her mother, and had refused to see her for a long time. Of course, Serena had blamed herself – presenting her daughter with a fait accompli – introducing Bernie as her new partner over Christmas– had probably not been the best way to do things. It had taken several years for Elinor to come round and to understand that her mother wasn’t just having a “bizarre sapphic mid-life crisis”, as she had contemptuously described the relationship that Christmas. Actually, Elinor’s husband had helped a lot – Elinor had met a young man at university – an artist, very open-minded – and they had got married not long afterwards. He now taught art in a school and Elinor taught music. He had done much to thaw the hostility between mother and daughter, and so had the birth of Wendy, their daughter. But if the relation between Elinor and Serena was now much more cordial, Elinor had never accepted Bernie. She refused to consider her as her mother’s partner, and on the few occasions they had been together, for instance for Wendy’s christening, Elinor had been overtly hostile. And now the three of them were coming to stay for a holiday, Bernie feared the week ahead. She had always hated conflict, and the years she had spent with her autocratic husband had increased her aversion to confrontation. Moreover, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if Elinor was looking for a fight. And if she gave as good as she got, she would hurt Serena… She had no wish to come between mother and daughter, but she wouldn’t let herself be trampled over.

Bernie sighed – just a week and they would be able to go back to their routine. She knew Serena was looking forward to spending time with her five-years-old grand-daughter and she had done her best to help make the house child-friendly. A swing hung from the branches of an old olive tree and they’d bought an inflatable pool, a set of plastic pétanque balls and a lot of treats. She held her arms out and Serena came to hug her. She had come a long way since their first tentative attempts at intimacy. She had been shy at first – uncomfortable with her body, its scars, its lines and its few superfluous pounds, unable to ask for what she most desired and fumbling in her demonstrations of fondness. Love had changed all that – she was still shy but no longer afraid of herself or others.

“Let’s go to bed, shall we? Tomorrow is another day.”

They completed the familiar ritual of closing the wooden shutters for the night and retired to the bedroom. They made love that night with all possible tenderness, by now able to reach each other’s most sensitive spots with instinctive knowledge, coming together when pleasure culminated in extasy.

The week went better than expected. Elinor did her best to be civil to Bernie, and although she was in no way warm, at least her hostility had abated. Little Wendy was a delight and the two grand-mothers became two devoted slaves to the child, giving the parents time to go sightseeing. From building a house in the garden with sheets to making cakes, the three of them had a lovely time. And yet, when they left, the two women were glad to have their home to themselves again. They felt they had earned their time together, and they didn’t want to share it with anybody else – not even their families. Two strong women who had found each other in the nick of time and were decided to enjoy life to the full. Let us leave them to it…


End file.
